


But I Could Never Forget You

by readwriteandavengers



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 17:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13709514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readwriteandavengers/pseuds/readwriteandavengers
Summary: Nate tries to remember.





	But I Could Never Forget You

**Author's Note:**

> I do apologize but I haven't proofread this for errors. If I waited until I proofread this I'd... probably never post it. Thanks for reading!

Nate’s hands delve inside his hoodie pockets, hiding in the warm solace. Gingerly, he trails forward in his socked feet, moving towards the sliding glass door that’s mottled with rain drops. The water morphs everything beyond the back porch, causing the green and brown of the trees to meld together.

 

A heavy sigh leaves Nate, the only other noise in the house besides the water pattering against the windows. He feels like he would have found the weather relaxing, or at least… the person he was a few months ago. Now he finds it disconcerting, and providing too much time for thought.

 

Nate can feel his mind start to wander, trying to grasp onto memories that aren’t there. He feels the emptiness in his mind. He _knows_ there are things he’s forgotten, but it’s like nothing but blackness. Nate sat for hours during his first two weeks back, trying to remember anything.

 

But nothing came. Nothing ever came back.

 

Nate abandons his space beside the sliding glass door out of frustration. He pads across the dining room to the living room, where he’s moved his desk to the corner. His desk lamp is on, casting a soft glow across the files he has strewn around.

 

There’s no doubt time had passed. Nate was thinner; Nate remembers looking in the mirror with a slim face and longer hair. Now, miraculously, he’s gotten a haircut and gained muscle. Nate’s own mother practically broke into tears when she saw her son, bellowing about how he’d been gone for months. Apparently he had said he was off on a studying expedition… but, even though he has a gap in his memory, he knows that wasn't the truth.

 

Nate tried to find plane tickets, train tickets, receipts, _any_ sort of document that would tell him where he’s been these last few months. Sadly, any trail he thought he had had faded out like a puff of smoke. Somehow, Nate had disappeared, and managed to be so secretive that even he can’t figure out what he was up to.

 

A rumble of thunder sounds, and then the crescendo grows higher until finally it dissipates. Nature seems to be mocking Nate, matching the thunder up with his anxiety.

 

-

 

Nate dreams.

 

Nate dreams; Nate feels. He feels the presence of family. He feels adventure, excitement. He feels scared. Then he feels love.

 

There’s the feeling of hands on his form, featherlight as they glide against his skin. Unusually rough, calloused in a way that Nate’s not accustomed to. But nice. Gentle, although Nate thinks the owner of those hands haven’t always been.

 

Nate awakens. He feels unsatisfied. He feels disappointed to have those feelings gone, ripped from him as consciousness is returned.

 

Nate clambers out of bed, holding in his frustration at no memory. His feet touch the cold floor, his uncovered thighs feel the early morning air in his apartment.

 

Nate showers, he brushes his teeth, he gets dressed. He completes the monotonous tasks he’s been repeating for the last month, trying his hardest not to feel so incomplete.

 

-

 

The midday air is warm against Nate’s skin, a gentle caress to remind him that summer is around the corner. Three months have passed since he’s appeared back, and he doesn’t feel like his memories are going to come back anytime soon.

 

Nate’s given up on trying to figure things out. So, with summer right around the corner, his mother needs help moving things around the house. It’s her way of handling the changing seasons, and making the passing time seem less boring.

 

Nate’s not a fan of being his mother’s pawn for the day. She stands in one corner of the room and spends at least half an hour telling Nate to move a piece of furniture back and forth until she’s satisfied. But he loves his mom, and he doesn’t have anything better to do.

 

“Nate!” His mother calls from inside the house. “Break time is over!”

 

Nate rolls his eyes, but turns around and strolls back into the house. He’s wearing only his socks, since his mother would probably conspire his murder if he wore shoes on her hardwood floor.

 

“Ma, you don’t have me on the clock, so I don’t think you can tell me when break time is over.” Nate calls back as he enters the foyer.

 

The architecture is gorgeous, if not pretentious. The floors are shining from the sunlight pouring in through the windows. Art is lining the walls, and a few family pictures as well. Nate never did like the way the house was set up. It felt too clinical, lacking warmth.

 

A man stands on a very tall ladder, bent awkwardly as he tries to change the lightbulb on the chandelier his mother insisted on having installed two years ago.

 

Nate stops in the middle of the room, placing his hands on his hips as he looks around. “Ma, where’d you go?”

 

“Coming!” She calls back, and Nate soon hears her footsteps down the hall. “Nate, I’m thinking about repainting the kitchen,” she says as she enters the room. She’s got two paint swatches in hand, and a pair of glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She smiles as she stops a few feet away, lifting the swatches so Nate can see. “What do you think about this one? It’s called Canary Yellow.”

 

The name instantly causes Nate’s ears to ring. His eyes grow distant as he remembers blonde hair cascading down someone’s shoulders, but there’s no face. The memory has an odd glow, and Nate feels his brows knit together in confusion.

 

“Nathaniel!”

 

Nate registers his mother’s shriek, and then he registers the snap from above his head. He’s given only a second to look up as he sees the chandelier coming crashing down upon him.

 

There are no thoughts in Nate’s head. His life doesn’t flash before him. There’s only darkness as he closes his eyes, ducks his head, and braces for the impact. Deep in the recess of his mind, he knows he will die. A hemophiliac such as himself won’t take a blow from a falling chandelier and live to tell the tale.

 

There’s a strange feeling. Like something coats his skin, or more like his skin _changes_. Then Nate feels pressure, a blow against his shoulders. The sound of breaking glass and metal colliding against the ground is next… but Nate feels fine.

 

Slowly, Nate opens his eyes, looking in front of him. He’s not on the ground. He’s still standing, looking at the front door and the bright light coming in. Then, Nate’s eyes dart over to where his mother stood moments ago.

 

Her mouth hangs wide open, one hand hovering nearby as she looks at her son with a mix of concern and… fear. The swatch she held before is now on the ground, curled from being handled so much.

 

“M...Ma?” Nate questions as he straightens his stance.

 

A glimmer of the broken chandelier catches his eye, so Nate looks down at his feet to view the wreckage. But the glass isn’t the only thing shining. Nate’s hands and forearms are… metal.

 

Nate remembers his mother’s hand on his shoulder, and he remembers her guiding him out of the foyer and into the living room where she then sat him down on the couch.

 

All the while, Nate couldn’t take his eyes off his hands.

 

His mom sat beside him, her hand staying planted on his shoulder reassuringly. Minutes passed, Nate couldn’t tell if it was five or forty-five until he was finally able to speak.

 

“What’s wrong with me?” His voice breaks at the question. He feels his shoulders sag and his body finally fall into the despair he’s been suffering with for months. His metal skin crawls away, turning back into the pliable, pale flesh he’s used to.

 

But now tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he hears sobbing before he realizes _he’s_ the one doing so. All the tension, all the frustration, the anxiety, the denial and then the acceptance are bleeding together and _finally_ coming to the surface.

 

Nate’s forehead falls against his mother’s shoulder. She rubs circles into his back and rocks him back and forth, repeating: “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. It’ll all be okay.”

 

-

 

After that, Nate started a file. The first thing in the pile was a bland sticky note with the words _Canary Yellow_ scribbled across it. That remained the only thing in the pile for another two months.

 

Until he found himself sitting in the city library. He had a few books sprawled around him, all on different subjects. Human anatomy, memory loss and amnesia, brain damage…

 

Nate’s eyes were skimming over the medical textbook, trying to keep his focus but it was failing. Nate was just about to give up when his eyes started reading about molecular compounds… and then his eyes scanned over the word _atom_.

 

Nate was transported this time, standing in a room with metal beams and technology that looked far too advance for his time. He could feel his hands on his hips, standing in front of a man with dark hair and a maroon top. The man was hunched over a lab table, his eyes looking through a microscope. They were talking… but the memory quit there.

 

Nate was back in the library, feeling breathless. He then scrambled to grab his notebook and wrote down the word _ATOM_ at the top of the page. The memory was still fresh, and the most vivid he’s experienced yet. He didn’t see a full face, but he saw the man’s profile and that was enough. Nate sketched out what he saw speedily, then ripped the page out and folded it neatly. He slid it in his pocket as he stood up from his chair and rushed to put the books on the cart. The librarian wouldn’t mind taking care of it… Nate hoped.

 

He returned to sling his bag over his shoulder and gather the rest of his things. He then bolted out the library, not caring of the eyes that followed him.

 

Nate was starting to feel hopeful again, especially when the memories started to become more common. He had one sticky note that simply has the letter _Z_ written on it. He also had a glossy page he ripped out of a kids magazine about wildlife in Africa that he paired with his own drawing of a golden neckpiece. There was a flyer for Palmer Tech in the folder too. Nate had also added a sticky note with a little fire icon drawn on there, along with a label for a specific kind of beer Nate saw in one of his flashbacks. If he could call whatever he was seeing _flashbacks._

 

Nate kept that folder tucked under his arm as he made his way into the his local coffee shop. He strolls in at three in the afternoon, as Nate does every Tuesday. It became a habit to sit in one of the booths, enjoying a warm drink and the AC at the same time.

 

Nate lets the door fall shut as he strolls up to the line. The place is busier than usual, since there’s an actual wait. Regardless, Nate doesn’t plan on complaining. He’s glad the place is getting the attention it deserves.

 

...But it’s worth noting that the small place seems oddly full for mid-afternoon. Nate’s eyes glaze over to the wall of windows, finding a woman sitting with her head ducked, blonde hair covering her face. Across from her sits another woman, her back straight and her hands surrounding her coffee cup. Her hair falls around her face, dark hair to match her brown eyes.

 

“Black Coffee for Amaya.”

 

Nate glimpses up just in time to watch a woman step forward, her smile soft as she takes the drink. Her hair is kinky, framing her delicate features well. She turns around to join the women near the window, but her eyes catch Nate’s for a brief second. Awkwardly, Nate offers a pursed smile since he was caught looking. Only, he’s confused when she smiles back because it looks so… sad.

 

“Hey, Nate. The usual?” The barista questions, bringing Nate out of his reverie.

 

“Yes, thanks,” Nate smiles sheepishly, prepared to wait, but the barista waves him off.

 

“Go sit down,” they tell him with a friendly wave. “We’ll bring it out to you.”

 

Nate thanks the barista but does as he’s told. He moves to the right, glad to find his usual spot hasn’t been taken. He slides into the booth and reclines, enjoying the cushion against his shoulders. He plants the folder on his left side, close to the window and out of range from coffee splatters.

 

Nate takes this time to people watch. His eyes move around the room, finding the three women on the opposite side huddled together, talking closely. Nate doesn’t want to flatter himself, but his anxiety tells him they’re talking about him. After a few seconds of pondering the idea, Nate scoffs and rolls his eyes. He must be conceited if he thinks three good-looking ladies are talking about him.

 

Nate looks ahead, this time staring at the empty booth in front of him. His mind replays the name _Amaya_. There’s something he can’t quite put his finger on… The name doesn’t feel familiar, but something about her appearance did.

 

Nate tries to act casual as he glimpses back over to the group of women. It’s hard to see anything since they’re all so close, but then Nate catches the glimmer around Amaya’s neck.

 

His head snaps back towards his manila folder and eagerly flips it open. He pushes the papers around, letting the all splay against the table as he searches. And he finds it. The amateurly drawn amulet. Nate studies it for a minute before glimpsing back towards Amaya’s direction.

 

It’s the same necklace.

 

Nate feels his jaw unhinge and his thoughts start to run too wild for him to catch up. He doesn’t know what to do. How could he possibly approach her? He’d sound _crazy_ admitting his memory loss, and even more crazy if he told her he’s seen her necklace in some of his flashbacks.

 

Nate settles back against the booth and tries to calm his rapid heartbeat. Perhaps caffeine isn’t the best idea at this point, but the barista seems to come at the perfect moment to drop off the drink.

 

Nate offers a weak thank you and the barista leaves with a smile. He reaches out, his fingers touching the warm ceramic. Instantly, Nate feels himself relax. Slightly. He brings the cup up to his lips, blowing across the top just as his eyes dart up to the front of the room. Two men sit together, one with a shorn head and the other with a full head of brown locks.

 

With a very recognizable profile.

 

Nate’s eyes remain glued to the man as he slowly lowers his coffee cup back to the table. With his left hand, Nate slowly pushes the documents around. He doesn’t want to seem like a maniac after all.

 

But there it is. The picture is undoubtedly the profile of the man sitting before him.

 

Suddenly, the coffee shop feels too stuffy. The usually welcoming smell of coffee feels like it could churn Nate’s stomach, and the cool air feels like an adversary now that Nate’s skin is uncomfortably clammy.

 

Nate’s got to say _something_ though. He has to. He has had to deal with eight months of pure uncertainty and broken fragments of what feels like reality mixed with dreams. Nate has to.

 

With a deep breath, Nate pushes all of his clippings and drawings back into the folder messily and finally slides out of the booth. He stands to his feet, and is slightly surprised when he feels all eyes on him. All three women watch him, and both men on the side of the room watch as Nate approaches.

 

Nate could have thought of a better way to broach the topic. Maybe an introduction… but instead he slaps the manila folder onto the table and opens it, sliding the rendition of the man’s profile over to him.

 

“Who are you?” Nate bites out, pointing his finger harshly against the sketch. Nate then glimpses at the other man, something familiar in his scowl. “Who are both of you? And those women?”

 

Nate watches as the grumpy man peers over Nate’s shoulder, so Nate follows his line of site. The blonde woman stares back, her face set in a frown.

 

Nate feels worry start to lace his veins, so he turns back to the folder. “Look, I drew this over two months ago. It’s _you_.” Nate explains to the man with the sad eyes and brown hair. “And this,” Nate pulls out the next drawing. “Is her necklace.” He points over to the woman named Amaya.

 

The two men stare at each other and Nate thinks he can see their resolve breaking. So he continues.

 

“This,” Nate grasps onto the beer label and shows it to the scowling man, “This is your favorite beer isn’t it? And you,” Nate swivels to point at the blonde. “Your name is Canary, and-and yours is Zee!”

 

The man with the dark hair reaches out, his fingers landing lightly on Nate’s forearm. “Nate…” he trails off, his tone sympathetic.

 

But Nate’s won now. He spins around, pointing his finger in the man’s face. “I never told you my name. How do you know me?”

 

The man with the scowl stands, a good inch or two above Nate himself. He’s intimidating, with broad shoulders and gloves covering his hands. Covering… scars? Nate remembers scars. Nate remembers the feeling of scars under his own hands.

 

“Come on, Pretty,” he says, but that sends Nate’s brain scrambling.

 

Nate’s eyes grow distant and he’s sent back into memories he’s lost. Like a rush, everything comes back. From the moment he was rushing his way into Oliver Queen’s office, when they found Mick, when Nate became an official member of the team. All of their adventures, and their hardships… the laughter, tears, the hugs.

 

Nate remembers his last mission. He remembers the chaos; the meta they were after, the way the earth shook under their feet. He remembers the falling branch that was headed right for Mick… and he remembers pushing Mick out of the way but not steeling up in time.

 

Nate remembers.

 

Nate’s back in the coffee shop, surrounded by the pleasant aroma, the coffee grinder in the background. He’s surrounded by his family, the ones who are all staring at him with hope in their eyes.

 

He looks over each and every one of their faces, from Zari, Amaya, Sara, Ray… and Mick. Each familiar face, each name that he can finally remember.

 

Nate doesn’t hesitate another minute. He throws himself at Mick, his arms wrapping around Mick’s neck and _clinging_.

 

“You son of a bitch,” Nate breathes into Mick’s shoulder, tears already falling. “You left me here.”

 

Nate feels Mick’s lips press into his hair, pressing against his scalp. Nate _remembers_. “You needed time to heal.” Mick breathes.

 

Nate doesn’t let go, but he doesn’t have to. Mick helps carry him out, the rest of the Legends close behind. They make it back to Waverider, where Nate hasn’t been for a good _eight months_. But it’s home.

 

Once he’s calmed down, once he’s able to let go of Mick, he gives some attention to the rest of his team. He hugs them all, tightly.

 

“Good to finally have you back, Nate.” Sara says, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

 

“Good to be back,” Nate shoots back as he saddles back over to Mick’s side. He slings his arm over Mick’s waist, and Mick’s arm is around his shoulders in seconds.

 

“Don’t be such a selfless idiot next time.” Mick growls as his arm tightens around Nate.

 

The rest of the team laughs, but they’re already sliding back into their places as Sara takes the captain’s chair.

 

Nate leans up to press his lips to Mick’s for a brief kiss before he pulls back, sighing. “You know how much I’ve missed that?”

 

“Alright, lovebirds.” Sara speaks with a smile in her voice. “Stop making us all sick and take your seats. We’ve got work to do.”


End file.
